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Monica's Travels 05

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Travels 04)

Chapter Five – The Enemy Lair

We returned to the Peninsular Hotel worried and fearful for Shawnee.  We had spent an increasingly anxious afternoon searching Stanley Village in vain, after she had failed to show up at lunch.  We knew Shawnee was scatter-brained and insensitive sometimes, but she was not stupid, nor did she forget important things, particularly when an appropriate punishment would invariably follow.

By the time we had got back to the hotel we knew the worst had happened.  The feeling that Jill and Leila had that we were being watched, had to be true, and we had reluctantly concluded that Shawnee had been nabbed by Madam Wong and her minions.  It was a conclusion that we dreaded voicing out loud, but none of us could suggest any alternative with the remotest conviction.

Any doubt which might have survived in the remotest corners of my mind was extinguished with the message we collected from the reception desk.  We went to my room where I opened the plain envelope and read the message out loud.

“If you want to see your little slave again, you will take the 7.30 ferry to Mui Wo tomorrow morning, then the bus that will be ready to depart.  You will stay on the bus until it reaches the end of the route, where you will dismount and walk three hundred metres back to the junction with the main road.  Here you will wait until you are contacted.  Do not contact the police, unless you want your slave to be working in the brothels of Shenzhen until she dies of exhaustion or an overdose.  It’s signed with a ‘P’,” I finished.

“Portia.  Oh… shit,” said Trish softly, horror in her voice.  She and Mary both looked pale and I felt sick to my stomach.  We sat in silence for a full half-minute.

“It’s a trap,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Of course it is,” Mary said, obviously irritated at my acute insight. “Where’s Mui Wo?”

“It’s on Lantau island.  We have to do as they say,” I suggested.

“What else can we do?  And how will we tell Monica?”

“Maybe we don’t?” suggested Trish.

“No, we must, and do it as soon as possible,” I said firmly.  “If anything happens to us, we have to leave a trail.  We don’t want to be like those dumb cop shows where they always decide to go in alone without calling for back up.  We should talk to her first.” 

“But they won’t have landed there yet.  We won’t be able to contact her until tomorrow morning,” Trish said reasonably.

“Then we’d better decide what to do in the meantime,” I compromised.

“Well we can’t all go together,” Mary declared.  “That would have to be about as stupid as we could get.  Portia will probably have half a dozen bully boys waiting for us, and we’ll have no back up.”  Nobody contradicted this statement of the obvious.  “Trish and I will go together.  You’ll have to trail us and find a way to get us out of wherever we end up.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said.  “What am I, James Bond?”

“You think we’re looking forward to walking into another Portia Special Internment Camp?” Mary snapped back.

“Hey, you two,” Trish interjected.  “Look, we have to work this out together.  We can’t argue amongst ourselves.”

“Sorry Mair,” I said.  She laid a hand on my arm in a rare gesture of sharing.

“I think Mary’s right,” Trish said.  “Like it or not, Steven, you’re the strongest and possibly the most resourceful.”

“I’ll also stick out like the proverbial dogs balls,” I reminded her.  “Hellooo – this is Hong Kong.  Full of Chinese, remember?  You want me to follow you on a ferry and a bus and not be noticed?”

This seemed to stop them a bit, and me too, for that matter.  I could see the logic of the argument, but couldn’t get around it.  We wouldn’t know where that bus was going until we got off the ferry, and even if we did and I tried to get there ahead of Mary and Trish, I would still be obvious to anyone looking for me.

“Unless we disguise you,” said Mary.

“What as?” I asked, not crediting her as being serious.  “A tree?”

“A nice Chinese girl.”

“Oh come on!  I’m not going down that road again.  You girls take a perverse pleasure in dressing me up as one of you.  It won’t work again.”

Despite my protests, Trish latched on to the idea.  “You’re right, Mary.  That could work.  A long black wig, dark glasses, a bit of makeup – we could do it.  That would be the last thing they would be expecting.  They’ll see the pair of us and be looking for a white guy lurking around, not just another Chinese girl.  Steven, don’t roll your eyes!  Think about Shawnee for a change and what that bitch Portia is probably doing to her right now.  Don’t be so damned selfish!”

Typical women, I thought, shamed into silence.  They always got me through guilt.  I let myself get into these situations and always found myself logically manoeuvred into a corner without escape by reason.

“We must go out and buy some stuff at once,” Trish decided.  “There’re plenty of shops still open.  But Steven must stay behind.  From now on you’re sick.  You have dinner and breakfast in your room, and that will be our story tomorrow.  I’m sure they’ll have this place watched.  Who knows how far Portia’s payroll extends – probably even within the hotel.  I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few porters and chamber maids working for the local triads here.”

I sat glumly while the pair of them worked out their plan and left, sounding just a tad more cheerful now that we had an idea where Shawnee might be, and a strategy to help her, even if it was one of the hairiest I had come across for a while.  And it was the dodgy nature of the plan that made me decide on a backup.

I took the emergency stairs and made my way through a small side fire exit that brought me out in a loading bay next to a row of shops.  There were a number of exits to the hotel, and I figured they could not have people watching them all.  With a cap pulled down over my eyes and sunglasses on, I did the best I could to disguise myself this time.  I would take a chance on appearing to be just another cool guy wearing dark glasses against the glare of the neon lights in downtown Kowloon at night time.

I had in mind a back street in Mong Kok that I had passed through a few times when I had worked in Hong Kong on the new airport project.  Hong Kongers have a passion for gadgets and all manner of oddball stuff, not the least being war gaming and paint ball.  Perhaps that was where the idea had come from at Bilboes.  Suffice to say after a bit of wandering about I finally found the shop with its range of paintball stuff, masks, battledress and replica guns.  It was one of these that I bought – and not cheaply, I might add.  It was a small fake pistol that might have been a Beretta, or might have been a cruise missile for all I knew.  For my purposes it looked real, and that was all I cared about.  I was seeking an advantage over Portia and her gang, and this was the best I could think of at the time.

I got back to the hotel and slipped through the same exit that I had left propped open with a sliver of wood, returning to my room only just ahead of Trish and Mary.

“We debated the look we were going for,” Trish explained as they dumped their parcels on the bed.  “We looked at the problems you have and what we could do about them.”

“And you’re going to now tell me about all these problems that I have,” I surmised.

“Not all of them – that would take too long,” Mary teased.  “Only the relevant ones.”

“Which are?”

“You’re tall – not too tall, but tall enough to make you a little out of the ordinary.  So no high heels.”

“Thank God for that,” I sighed.

“Sneakers instead,” Mary said.  “You can wear your own – your feet aren’t that big.”

“Thanks.”

“But you’re still solid.  Not exactly petite.  So, long sleeved shirt to cover your biceps, and a skirt to your knees.  You do have a nice butt, which we think will look better in a skirt than your own jeans, and we’d never get any other trousers to fit you.  We think the ‘day walker’ look will work.  Knee high socks are all the fashion, so we’ll have most of you covered.” 

“And you have neither tits nor a waistline,” Trish continued.  “So we have to do something about that.” 

Mary, meanwhile, had been ferreting in my wardrobe and pulled out a chambray shirt.  “This will do,” she declared.  “Take your tee shirt off.”   I did as I was told, while Trish produced a black sports bra.  I couldn’t believe I was doing this again, as I did fastened the bra with difficulty and stood looking like a pratt.  Trish and Mary eyed me up then both disappeared into the bathroom, to reappear a minute later.

“You need something to put in that bra, and in the absence of a decent prosthetic, we’ve had to improvise.  We were trying to decide what size you were.”  Trish held out two white balloons filled with water to be the size of tennis balls.

“Balloons full of water?”

“Sure.  They won’t burst – at least not without a lot of provocation.  They’re very natural – the right weight and they move up and down, not like socks or any of that stuff.”

“You sound like you’ve had a lot of experience of this,” I said, irked by the confidence with which they did everything.

“In this business – yep.  Seen it all,” confirmed Mary.

“So stop complaining and shove these inside – we even used warm water.  Can’t be more considerate than that.”  I squished the warm floppy balls inside the bra to make my new profile. 

“Hmm.  Understated but elegant,” Trish approved.  I snorted.

“Still no waistline,” murmured Mary to nobody in particular.

“Got another present for you,” said Trish, digging in another bag.  “This took some finding.”  She flourished a waist cincher.  I groaned.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Shut up, or we’ll end up locking it in place and hiding the scissors and keys. Now turn around and breathe in.”

The device clipped together behind my back and the laces were in the front, presumably so that it did not need two people to put it on.  In this case, however, Trish set to with a vengeance, hauling on the laces despite my protests.  As my torso yielded to the pressure of the corset, I suddenly found myself with an hourglass curve from hip to underside of rib.  I also found myself barely able to breathe.

“I’ll die of suffocation,” I complained.  “What if I have to tie my shoelaces?” 

“We’ll do it for you,” Mary declared, obviously exasperated by my complaints.  “We’re quite good with knots.  I’m sure they won’t come undone.”

“Now try the skirt,” said Trish.  Reluctantly I undid my jeans and let them fall to the floor, but Trish had to remove them from there, because I was under no illusions that I could bend that far.  “Jeez you’re a whiner,” she complained.  “Your body will adapt.  Get over it.”  She held the skirt while I stepped into it, holding on to Mary’s shoulder for support.  The skirt zipped up snugly to my new waistline and stopped a couple of inches above the knee.  It was in navy blue with green piping, and looked quite reasonable, if a little constricting.

“Nice,” said Mary smugly.  “We guessed well.”

I was made to put the shirt on inside out and stand still while the girls pinned several darts into the material to make it conform to my new body shape.

“I suppose you want me to shave my whole body now?” I ventured.

“Don’t be silly.  We’ve brought some depilatory cream.  That will do the job.  A hairless male is quite a turn on, or have you never been told that?”

“I’ve heard stories about hairy men being a turn off for some women.”

“Better believe it, kiddo,” Trish said.  “Get your clothes off and start spreading the stuff on, then jump into the shower.”

“How much do I have to do?”

“Just your legs and the lower arms,” Trish said, “though if you want help with other parts… I think I should inspect you before you finish…” Mary shot Trish a wry look which Trish avoided and I wished I hadn’t seen.

I did as I was told, and having stripped and plastered the stuff over my legs I was about to turn the shower on when Trish slipped through the door.  I had long since got over being coy in front of Trish and did not object when she inspected the extent of my intended hairlessness.

“Shall I do a little on your chest?” she asked. “Leila and Jill did quite a job with the wax strips on your back the other day.  Why not finish it off?  I’ve always been partial to a real cleanskin – not that you’re hairy, by any stretch of the imagination.  Look, here we are with all this cream left.  Why not do the thing properly?  Then you can show Shawnee the lengths to which you were prepared to go for her benefit.”

There are times when you have to object to things with women, and there are times when you have to go with the flow if you know what’s good for you.  After the stress of the day and the trouble they were obviously going to, this was one of the latter.

“Something’s wrong with your logic there,” I started to say, but Trish ignored me and began rubbing the cream over my chest, then under my arms.  I let her do the rest of my thighs and it was too late when she suddenly smeared a handful through my pubic hair.  I was about to wrestle with her when I realised the futility of it.  The damage was done.  Trish knew she had won. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispered, just before she pushed me into the shower.

*   *   *

Despite the bedtime company of Trish that night, I was on edge – as were all three of us the next morning.  I had first to go through the motions of being sick in bed when the room service breakfast arrived, then to suffer the indignities of being laced into the corset and bra.  Mary had done some impeccable sewing on my chambray shirt, and I knew I would not be wearing it after this, from the way it accentuated my newfound waistline and a gentle pair of breasts that bounced and jiggled like the real thing.

“I’d like to see you running for a bus, “ Trish teased, while I grumbled.  “You’ll notice that I’ve put the balloons in so that the knot faces outwards, just to give that mysterious little hint of nipple bulge.”

“You’re such a tart,” Mary mocked me.  “I wouldn’t hang out with someone like you.” I poked my tongue out at her.

Then came the skirt, long white socks and sneakers. Finally the makeup and the long black wig.  I would never pass for Chinese – not until the big sunglasses went on – but from that point on, I was quite startled at my changed appearance.  Trish rounded the effect off with a pale blue scarf at my throat to cover any suggestion of an apple, and handed me my bag.  It was a black imitation leather thing designed to be worn on the back, like a handbag that aspired to be a daypack, but never quite made it. 

“Everybody’s wearing them here, in case you hadn’t noticed.  Look, we even got you a little soft Pooh Bear to hang from it.”

“I’m not a five-year old,’ I complained.

“All the big girls here have stuffed toys,’ Mary said laconically.  “God knows why.  It seems the mental age of the local female population stops at puberty and kick starts again twenty years later.”  I laughed.  It was exactly the same thought I had had.

“Goddamn, this bloody corset’s tight.  You’re evil, Trish!  Don’t tell me you two haven’t enjoyed this.”  The pair just smiled, and Trish blew me a kiss.

“We must ring Monica.  She picked up the phone and I gave her the itinerary listing our accommodation and contacts.  In this instance it was the Savoy, in London, much to what had been the amazement of all of us.   We listened as Trish asked for Monica, then we saw the look of slow disbelief spread over her face.  When she finally hung up, we had guessed the worst, and her reply to our question only confirmed our own unvoiced fears.

“The girl at reception said Monica and the others were due six hours ago.  The plane arrived on time, but they never made it to the hotel…”

*   *   *

I trailed some fifty metres behind Trish and Mary on the short walk to the Star ferry that would take us across the harbour to Hong Kong Island, where we would catch the ferry to Lantau Island.  I was uncomfortable and nervous in my outfit, despite assurances from Mary and Trish that I looked quite yummy, if slightly taller and bigger boned than your average skinny Hong Kong girl.  I might have relaxed given some of the glances I got from the guys, but there were obvious other things on my mind.  Aside from the new anxiety I now felt for Monica, I wanted to see if Mary and Trish were being tailed, but I soon discovered that spotting a tail was impossible.  In these days of mobile phones, and given that our intended route was known, it would only take a chambermaid watching from the window to report our progress to someone waiting at the ferry arrival jetty.  And of course ninety-nine percent of Hong Kong inhabitants had mobile phones, with at least half of them using them at any one time.

We caught the seven-thirty Lantau ferry – a more sophisticated affair than the Star Ferry – and settled in for the hour-long trip.  I bought a magazine but couldn’t concentrate on it.  Every minute or so I checked on Mary and Trish who were sitting thirty metres away.  The boat was not very crowded, since most people would be on the return journey from the island to the CBD.  Every so often the girls would get up and walk about.  They did not look nervous, but clearly sitting still was difficult for them.  Dressed in a short grey skirt and maroon blouse, Mary’s height and willowy figure made her immediately noticeable, even without her European appearance. Trish, with a dark green skirt, white polo shirt and auburn hair, was slightly shorter than Mary, and formed the other half of what was a striking couple.  Both wore sneakers and Trish carried a small daypack, the pair looking like a couple of tourists out for a day walk.

I was conscious that my own little day bag held a small pair of binoculars, the replica pistol, and a bunch of half-metre plastic cable ties that I had also bought on my quick shopping foray the previous evening.  The presence of these did not give me any real comfort, but then with my body confined in the tightness of the corset, comfort was not something I expected to see a lot of for a while.  It had only just dawned on me that even assuming a successful outcome to this little adventure, I had brought no other clothes that would fit me, and removal of the corset would not allow me to do up my shirt.  I cursed my gullibility in letting myself get talked into this stupid plan.

We passed the western tip of Hong Kong Island and as I walked up to the front of the ferry I could see the green bulk of Lantau rising up in front, with Lantau and Sunset Peaks both nearly a thousand metres high. 

Mui Wo was a small town on the southeastern side which served as the main disembarkation point for the island’s populace, and it was here that we followed the swell of passengers down the gangplank to disperse to taxis, the township and the single bus waiting at the terminal.  I led the way, trusting that Mary and Trish would follow me, for a change.  The bus was an old affair – a single-decker, as was the requirement for the narrow roads of Lantau.  It’s destination was Tai O, a fishing village on the north-west coast, where I had never been previously.

I sat near the back, having the rare luxury on Hong Kong transport of a seat to myself, as we followed the road along the pleasant sandy southern beaches before finally turning inland after half an hour to climb a ridge to where the road turned off to the Po Lin Monastery, site of the world’s largest seated outdoor Buddha.  I had been there, but the road from here on was unfamiliar, as we wound down the other side of the ridge into the small fishing village of Tai O. 

I wondered where they were holding poor Shawnee, and what they were doing to her.  At least her plight was in an odd way a known quantity, and we could at least do something about it, albeit that we did not yet know what that action would be.  Monica, on the other hand, was half a world away, and had never made it to the hotel from the airport.  That really scared me.  Somebody had laid an ambush – I would bet anything on it.  Portia was here in Hong Kong, but I wondered whether Madam Wong was…

My brooding reveries were interrupted as we pulled in to the terminus, and I followed Mary and Trish off the bus.  We were on the edge of the built-up area, the houses here being of the usual unattractive concrete block style with flat roofs, while further away a long muddy creek wound through the middle of wooden houses built on stilts over the water. 

I turned my back on the creek, however, following the girls and a few other locals back towards the main road, and keeping my distance from the group.  I lingered for a minute or so, looking at a tourist map I had picked up in the hotel, to give credence to my pretence of being a day-tripper, before starting up the road a hundred metres behind my target.  They reached the junction and the rest of the group soon dispersed, leaving them standing there.  I hesitated, not sure whether to carry on walking or to hang back.  That was when a big bear of a man emerged from the shadows of a nearby banyan tree and spoke to them.  The conversation lasted perhaps a minute, with the girls looking around nervously.  Eventually the man shrugged and a moment later the three of them were setting off up the road at a brisk pace.  I did not at all like the way this was going.  The man looked as though he could bash up the three of us with one arm in a sling.

I followed discretely, hanging back a hundred metres still, pretending to enjoy the countryside and occasionally looking at my map, but the man did not turn back.  The trio disappeared around a wooded bend in the road, and when I rounded it, the road was empty.  It was passing through trees at this point, and I figured they had to have turned off somewhere.  I found a narrow track that looked as though it had been used recently, and I saw what might have been two pairs of sneaker prints in the dust, overlying some tyre marks that could only have come from a motorcycle.  The path became narrower through the woods as the sun was shut out and the track twisted around trunks and fallen trees.  It was quiet and I was nervous.  It looked the perfect place for someone to take one by surprise.

Unconsciously I had slowed down, checking my footfall on the leaves and forest debris.  I was thinking I must still be a long way behind my quarry when there came the sudden sound of female cries and shouts, and what might have perhaps been a struggle.  Then it was silent and I rushed forward instinctively, almost blundering past the solid timber gate in the wall, half hidden on a short side path.  Looking closer I made out the brown moss-covered brick wall stretching through the undergrowth to each side of the double gate. 

I approached the ancient weathered timber with infinite care, watching where each foot went on the ground, dreading treading on a dry twig.  I reached the gate and pushed it tentatively.  It was solid and obviously barred or locked on the other side.  It also fitted so closely at the threshold and jamb that I could not see through any crack.  I dared not try to do a chin up on the outside, in case I found myself staring straight at Portia and her minions, however many there were.

There were gruntings from inside and some Chinese commands, and I knew my worst fears had been realised – that Trish and Mary had been captured.  True, that was sort of our plan, but I had hoped it might not be quite so quick, and that I might have had an opportunity to gain some support from the pair.  I now assumed they were incapacitated, but at least I knew where everybody was – for I assumed Shawnee and Portia were inside the compound.  Mind you, it would not have been the first time I had wrongly assumed something, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.  I had to see what was going on, to somehow gain a view over the wall. Situated as the place was in the forest, it would hopefully not be too difficult to find a tree with some overlooking views. 

Trying to ignore what were obviously expressions of pain or stress coming from beyond the wall, I crept furtively through the undergrowth to the left of the door, treading carefully through the carpet of dry leaves and brushing away the twigs and branches that tried to snag my progress.  My breathing was laboured enough just trying to keep quiet, but it was made more so as I tried to counter the effect of the tight corset clutching at my diaphragm.  I turned the corner of the wall and progressed along what I figured was the western side, still comprising a three-metre high moss-covered brick wall with a capping of heavy glazed tiles.  About halfway along was a small banyan tree which I reckoned I could scale without too much difficulty.

I had, of course, reckoned without the hindrance of my skirt restricting my leg movement, and I had barely started my climb when I had to stretch my leg out and there was a sudden tearing sound.  I froze, wondering if it had carried over the wall, by the sound of conversation in Chinese continued unabated.  I moved higher, feeling the greater freedom that came with a tear up the back seam, and which let cool air up my backside.  Right then that was the least of my concerns, however, as I edged above the level of the wall and was able to look down on the compound.

The place was square, with a kind of open barn along the side where the gate was.  That side was roofed, but was open on the inside to allow easy access for farming implements and storage.  I saw two motorcycles parked under cover, along with piles of straw, scattered pots, tools and timber. 

The wall below me, topped with tiles, formed the west side of the square, opposite an identical wall on the other side.  The fourth side, opposite the gate, comprised what was – or had been – living quarters, with a pitched tiled roof running along the length of the wall, with the smooth plaster of the inside wall broken by three doors and several windows.

The whole compound was perhaps forty metres on a side, recently refurbished with the new glazed roof tiles a rich shade of green that blended with the overhanging trees that surrounded the perimeter.  Probably at some stage in its past life this had been a prosperous little farming community, before falling into disrepair, only to be taken over as a holiday prison by Portia and Madam Wong, for use on their leisure visits to Hong Kong.

For there was no doubt as to the purpose of this place.  My gaze was riveted on the big square roofed structure in the centre of the compound.  The roof was supported by heavy posts from which hung various chains and shackles and coils of rope.  In one corner a small handcart rested.  I lay along a bough of the tree, my water-filled boobs pressed against the bark.  I was worried they would burst under pressure, but my worries were nothing compared to those being faced by the three girls in the compound.  Nearest to me I could see Shawnee.  I squirmed around and managed to extract the small pair of binoculars from my bag.  If I had been concerned before, I was shocked when Shawnee’s strained face swam into focus.

She was standing, balanced on her right leg, her left leg bent and bound ankle to thigh with coarse brown rope.  She still wore the white leather boots she had bought only the previous day, but otherwise Shawnee was naked.  The ropes encircled the high heel of her left boot, pulling it tautly against her buttock as she bent her body forward at ninety degrees.  There was a rope around her waist, the front and back of it being connected by several strands disappearing between her buttocks, out of which protruded a large black phallus, rising up like a short stubby tail.  I guessed Portia had already been having some fun with poor Shawnee.

Shawnee’s arms were bound behind her, at wrist and elbow, pulled up at an angle by a rope rising up over a beam under the pitched roof.  It was only when I looked closely that I realised that same rope that pulled her arms up returned down on the other side of the beam to encircle Shawnee’s neck.  But worse was to come, as I traced the rigid form of her body through the binoculars, and saw that her right foot was balanced on a block of wood about four inches square.  It was enough for the forward part of her boot to rest on, but not her heel, so that she was straining to stay erect on the ball of her foot.  Any lapse in concentration would mean slipping off the block and the rope between her neck and wrists tightening, probably to the point of strangulation.

“My God…” I breathed.  No wonder Mary and Trish had cooperated, or so I assumed, no doubt succumbing to the promise of relief for Shawnee from the noose at her throat.

Shawnee was gagged with a ball skewered on a short length of bamboo and tied in place like a cross between a bit and a ball gag.  Her head was down and I could see shiny beads of sweat dripping from her nose to form a damp patch in the earth beneath her.  There was a frown of concentration on her face as she struggled to stay focussed, while a trembling in her right leg threatened to upset her balance on the wooden block.  She was obviously trying not to be affected by what was being done to Mary and Trish only metres from her.

I refocussed the glasses to the activity beyond her, and immediately the trademark bright scarlet of Portia Tang’s outfit rushed into my field of view.  There was the same immaculate black helmet of hair, the red lips and fingernails, and the matching clothes.  In this instance she wore a crimson leather skirt that reached down to her calves, with a slit up the front almost to her crotch.  The hem of the skirt overlapped high-heeled boots and was set off by a sleeveless leather vest zipped up the front.  Everything about Portia just oozed style and money, I thought.

This was in direct contrast to the brute who was dealing to Mary and Trish.  He was big and strong, sporting only a baggy tee shirt and shorts that showed rippling muscles and a casual familiarity with ropes and the human form.  Right then he was hoisting Mary to her feet from where she had been lying in the dust with her hands bound palm to palm behind her.  A red ball was strapped between her teeth, and she looked decidedly peeved at the rough treatment she was receiving from Portia and the big man.

Trish had already been dealt to, and was standing bent over in a strappado, her hands, like Mary’s bound palm to palm behind her, and a trailing rope leading up over a beam above her, before returning to be wound around a wooden peg.  Trish was also silenced with a red ball gag, and was glaring balefully at Portia as the Chinese girl directed the man as he dragged the struggling Mary over to her friend.

Mary stood little chance against the strength that controlled her.  The man held a handful of Mary’s black hair, immobilising her head as he tossed another length of rope over the same beam as Trish’s strappado.  Moments later Mary’s head was freed but her arms were rising up behind her as the man pulled on the trailing rope attached to her wrists.

Portia unwound Trish’s rope from the wooden peg and passed it to her colleague, who grasped it in a giant paw and began to haul on both ropes together.  Portia took placed a hand on the back of each prisoner’s neck and forced them down at the same time as their hands were pulled upward.  When both pairs of arms were almost vertical, Portia manoeuvred Trish and Mary so that they were back to back, their heads and arms touching.  Portia picked up another length of rope and, squatting down on her heels, encircled the torsos of Mary and Trish such that  they could not twist out of their back-to-back position.  The rope went in multiple turns around their bodies, below their breasts, then Portia looped a couple of very effective cinches between their bodies, tightening the loops. 

By this stage the man had tied off the two strappado ropes, leaving the two helpless girls bent over, their skirts tight over their exposed and vulnerable buttocks.  Portia said something to the man and he ambled over to the open sided lean-to near the front gate.  While he did this, Portia moved across to Shawnee and began to slide her hand between Shawnee’s legs in a slow caressing motion.  Shawnee’s right leg began to tremble further, as the obvious caresses began to distract her.  Gradually the tremors spread to the rest of her body and she became agitated, unable to keep her arms up behind her, and beginning to pull on the rope looped around her neck.  As she began to snort and gasp for air, Portia finally took pity and with a quick pull on the knot at Shawnee’s wrists, released the overhead rope. 

As her arms dropped and the strain on her neck ceased, Shawnee promptly lost her balance and fell over sideways, crying out as best she could around the ball jammed in her mouth.  Portia placed her booted foot on Shawnee’s neck and the naked girl instantly became still as the high heel pressed into her flesh.  Portia held her there easily for several seconds, dominating the young slave and emphasizing her extreme vulnerability.  Shawnee remained rigid, until eventually Portia removed her heel and knelt to remove the rope from her victim’s neck.  With the rope freed from her victim’s neck, she now wound it through Shawnee’s long brown hair, intertwining it until it was solidly anchored, before running the tail down to wind around Shawnee’s free ankle, before returning to be tied off at the wrists.  Shawnee now lay on her side, head pulled back, in a kind of hog tie, and Portia rolled her on to her stomach, so that gravity exacerbated the tension on her head from the rope tethering her hair.  Portia then swung her round, Shawnee’s breasts tracing two furrows in the dust, until she was positioned so that she could watch the fate of her friends.

The man had now returned from the storage area carrying a bundle of bamboo in various lengths, some thick as a girl’s wrist, others thin and whippy.  He dropped them in a heap on the ground beside where Trish and Mary were bent over and lashed together, and I had the feeling that their bondage was only just beginning.

Portia joined in the action at this point, directing how a metre length of thick bamboo was to be tied to Mary’s left ankle, then a further length to her right ankle.  Then, with Portia drawing Mary’s left ankle backwards, the man did the same with Trish’s right ankle, before tying the free end of the bamboo in place there.  Half a minute later the other length of bamboo connected Mary’s right ankle with Trish’s left, and their legs were propped apart, so that the pair appeared to be leaning against each other.  The pulling back of their legs had lowered the pair further, raising their arms a touch more towards being absolutely vertical.  The gagged grunts and moans that came from the stringent position carried clearly to me in the warm midday air.

But Portia was not even satisfied with this posture, as she turned the pair a couple of degrees so that the bamboo poles were at right angles to the beam above.  Portia and the man then tied a further rope to the midpoint of each bamboo pole and trailed the ropes out so that they encircled the posts supporting the beam.  Portia took the end of her rope to the man and handed it to him, saying something in Chinese.  He began to slowly pull on each rope, and I saw the tension come on the bamboo poles, forcing the girls to now spread their legs sideway.  It was a horrendous pose, with Portia standing over the helpless pair as their sneakers were forced to gradually work sideways, leaving uneven tracks in the dust.  Every now and again Portia gave a foot a little nudge, while the gagged protests from the inverted heads reached a new level of pleading.  Trish and Mary were tough, but this was a horrific position that was being imposed on them. 

When she was satisfied that the legs were far enough apart, forming the four corner ridges of a pyramid, Portia tied two more bamboo poles in place, in the form of ankle spreaders, one between Trish’s ankles and one for Mary.  At that point she obviously felt her captives could do no further harm, and she could now begin to enjoy herself.  She started with a slow grope up the girls’ thighs, raising their skirts which had already slid upwards as their legs had been spread.  Portia lifted them all the way, rucking them up over each waist, exposing the G-strings pulled tightly between the taut buttocks.  From my position, I was side on to the action, and I could see the intensity of concentration on Mary and Trish’s faces.  Both had their eyes closed as Portia picked a pair of scissors from a red leather carryall on the ground beneath a cart parked under the shelter.  With a few snips, Mary and Trish’s cheeks were exposed fully, as an obvious prelude to the main event.

Portia motioned to the man, who surprised me by dropping his shorts and squatting beside the captives, with his back to me.  Portia picked up a two-strap leather quirt from the bag and let fly across each exposed rump with two quick strokes.  I imagined that would have gained her the attention she sought.  That was the first time I heard Portia speak in English.

“Now that your eyes are open, perhaps you would take a look at Mr Shek here.”  Beyond the man I saw Mary and Trish slowly turn their heads and their eyes widen. “Yes, he is very well endowed, isn’t he?  How would you fancy that up your arse, Trish?  Or how would you like to experience Mary having it up hers, while you remain bound to her as part of the action?”  Portia laughed.  “Shawnee will be the first to enjoy Shek’s dick inside her – I’ve promised him that, and you two can watch – or at least listen to her cries.  I expect it will be very painful, for you can see he is quite a handful.  But Shawnee has been preparing for this for some time.  And it’s true what they say – size is important, as you will all find out.  But first, I want some information.  I want to know where your friend Steven is.  I still have some unfinished business with him – business which will be extremely painful for him, in a way I guess only guys can know, and which I know will make his eyes water.  Now, I know you’re gagged, and that will be necessary for the obvious reason.  But all you have to do to let me know you have had enough and are prepared to talk is to release the piece of bamboo I am putting in to your hands.”

With this statement Portia selected a couple of offcuts of bamboo that had fallen out of the bundle Shek had brought over, and placed one each in the hands of Trish and Mary.  The bound hands gripped the bamboo tightly, and my heart raced as I pondered what I could do to stop the impending torture.

As Shek stood and pulled up his shorts, I caught a glimpse of something enormous dangling between his legs, and shuddered at the thought of this being rammed into the girls.  Portia stepped back and let loose a series of blows with the quirt on Trish’s backside.  They were hard strokes, delivered with the full force of her arm, and made Trish whine and jerk, although in fact it was more a shudder than a jerk, so rigidly were the girls tied.  Then it was Mary’s turn for a warm up, and the sound of leather on taut flesh carried sickeningly clearly to my position in the tree.

I looked round for some inspiration, but none came.  I had to get into the compound, but the only direct way was through the front gate.  My only alternative was probably via one of the overhanging trees, and the best of these looked to be on the front wall, that would permit a drop on to the gently sloping lean-to roof, thence down to the ground.

Of course that was all very well, but I would have no chance unless I could take Shek and Portia by surprise – otherwise we would all end up hung out to dry, and Portia’s intentions towards me were anything but friendly.  The word ‘excruciating’ was still ringing in my brain.  Even the stupid replica gun would be of no use unless I could get up close – I could not exactly fire a warning shot.  Whatever the choice, I had to be ready when the opportunity arose.

Portia offered the choice of relief to Trish and Mary, but their hands remained clenched on their bamboo sticks.  I suspected that they had decided that even if they did talk, nothing would change as far as their circumstances were concerned.  It would be reasonable to expect that the beating would end only when Portia decided it would end, which would be in no way governed by any external influences like deals with helpless prisoners.

When Portia picked up a metre long length of whippy bamboo, I decided that I had to position myself to act as soon as possible, however that might be.  The need for action also drew me away from having to watch the next, more severe, stage of the beating.  Unfortunately, as I made my way cautiously back down the tree and along the front wall, I could not stop the swish of bamboo through the air, the crack of the strike on buttocks, and the gagged cry of pain with each stroke.

By the time I passed the gate and wormed my way up the tree near the far corner I could look down from behind Trish and see the blue welts overlaying the red glow that covered her cheeks.  Mary was on the receiving end at this point.  I could not see her face, of course, but I could see the pair of bound bodies twitch and writhe with the impact of each blow, and I could hear both the grunt of effort from Portia and the stifled cry from Mary.

Around then Portia seemed to lose her patience.

“Maybe Shek can make you loosen your grip,” she spat, “even if he has to do it by rattling your tonsils with that thing of his – from the other end, of course.  Your little slave has had her arsehole enlarged since she came here yesterday.  I’m sure it must be very uncomfortable, roped in there, but she’ll be grateful for it when Shek gets going.  But as for you two, I think you can take it au naturel, nice and tight.  Shek likes it that way, and three western girls will be like all his Chinese New Years come at once.”  She laughed harshly and said something to the big man, who had been leaning against a post watching Portia wield the cane.

Portia turned and strode back to the house, her long red skirt flapping around her legs, while Shek turned his attention to the bound figure of Shawnee lying in the dust.  He untied the tail rope from her wrists and freed both legs, before hauling Shawnee to her feet as one would a lightweight rag doll.  I crouched on the heavy bough, only a couple of feet above the tiled roof, shielded by the heavy foliage, but still unable to do anything.  Shek took a heavy iron collar and bolted it closed around Shawnee’s neck and she staggered slightly while the circulation returned to her legs.  The black phallus wobbled from her butt hole as Shek linked the collar to two posts at waist height, with a heavy chain each side, so that Shawnee found herself forced to kneel midway between the posts.  Shek, of course, was having none of that.  A kneeling slave was of no use to him, so he undid the rope holding the double dildo in place and taking the rope tail from between Shawnee’s legs, he threw it over a convenient beam, pulling down and retying it, obliging Shawnee to get to her feet and remain bent over, held at the waist and neck.  Shawnee’s head was facing towards me, and I saw the grimace on her face as Shek roughly hauled the impaling dildo out of her arse.  It was a fat, wide one, and must have been painful to accommodate, but it was nothing to what she was now going to have to accept.

Shek was nearly finished with his preparations, as he tied a rope to each of Shawnee’s ankles, and anchored them to posts, drawing her feet and legs apart so that there was no way she would be able to resist the penetration.  Shawnee was making faint keening noises through the gag as Shek tested her position with a few trial pelvic thrusts into her rear, holding on to her waist rope with both hands.

I watched all this going on with mounting dismay, for I could not see how I could take Shek by surprise.  He was facing me if I attempted to climb down and I would be spotted before I had even reached the ground.  What I had not expected, however, was that Shek wanted his money’s worth, and it seemed that perhaps one of the drawback’s of being hung like a donkey was that he needed a little extra encouragement to get underway.  The consequence of this was that he moved to Shawnee’s head and removed her gag, before dropping his shorts and offering his member to Shawnee’s mouth.

Shawnee was skilled in this activity, but while I could not now see her face, since Shek now blocked my view, I suspected she would be struggling with the sheer size of what she now had to take in.  A deep throat was something she now needed, if she wasn’t to choke in the process.  She had always had a big mouth – or so Monica kept telling her.  Hopefully it would be adequate for the task now facing her.

It dawned on me that this was the one chance I might have – while Shek had his back to me and was distracted with Shawnee’s oral ministrations.  With fearful care, I lowered myself on to the tiled roof, disentangling my long hair from a clinging branch before edging down to the lip of the tiles.  The roof had been recently refurbished, and I hoped the upgrade had included the rafters under the tiles.  Crouching like a monkey I peered over the edge.  It was barely a couple of metres to the beaten earth below, but it was the noise I might make, rather than the drop itself that worried me.  I slipped the replica gun out of the bag, expecting I might have to brandish it sooner than I expected, and consequently have to bluff my way from an early point.

At the moment when I jumped, Shek was starting to make groaning noises of pleasure, which were accompanied by gasps and grunts from Shawnee as she struggled to breathe at the same time as applying her skills to the great dick jammed in her mouth.  It was these sounds that covered my own soft landing, and I thanked the stars that Trish and Mary had not insisted on my wearing high heels as part of my disguise.

Trish, with her face staring between her spread legs, saw me, and grunted softly, but my immediate task was to take care of Shek, who now seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Shawnee’s attentions, and was thrusting away rhythmically, his hands holding on to Shawnee’s waist ropes.  Well, he was enjoying himself until I snuck up behind him and thrust the gun behind his ear.

“Keep your hands where they are,” I hissed.  “Shawnee – bite and hold!  One false move and you’ll be four inches lighter, mister!” 

Shek made an intake of breath, which I sensed was part in surprise at my presence and part in response to a sudden tightening of teeth around his willy.  Thank God Shawnee still had the presence of mind to do as she was told, without asking questions as to where I had suddenly materialised from.

“Very good,” I said.  “Now bring your left hand very slowly around behind your back…”

I jabbed him under the ear with the pistol barrel, and he reluctantly complied, possibly spurred on by a further tightening of Shawnee’s teeth.  I pulled out two heavy plastic cable ties from my bag and encircled the fleshy wrist four times.  I was not going to underestimate the strength in those beefy arms. 

“Now the other hand…”  He was obedient, and did as he was told, and two further ties went round the right wrist, looping through those on the left.  I zipped them tight and placed a further one on each wrist for luck.

“Hold, Shawnee,” I said, as though instructing a dog, and left the pair there momentarily, the big man anchored to the bound and chained girl by his dick trapped in her mouth.  “I wouldn’t give her an excuse, if I were you,” I warned him.  He glared at me with an inscrutable look that could have contained any of a hundred different emotions – all of them no doubt vindictive and centring on revenge.  I quickly searched for further restraints and found several lengths of chain at the base of one post, with a few heavy padlocks.  I took the heaviest chain I could find and locked one end round Shek’s ankle, before removing Shawnee’s gag from where it hung around her neck, and jamming it between Shek’s jaws.  His neck was so big that the strap only just reached, and it was mighty tight by the time I had buckled it in place.  He was clearly not amused, and I decided the last thing I wanted was him running amok with me anywhere in the vicinity.  At the earliest opportunity I would replace the cable ties with steel handcuffs.

“You may release him – if you want to – Shawnee.  We don’t have facilities for micro-surgery here.”

As Shawnee opened her mouth and Shek pulled his willy free, I dragged him backwards by the chain around his ankle and locked the free end round a post, such that he couldn’t reach any of the girls, for I had no idea what he might do, even in his bound state.

I was worried that Portia might appear at any moment, and hastened to untie Shawnee.  I managed to undo her hands and the waist rope, but couldn’t find the key to the chain and collar securing her midway between the posts. 

“See if you can get your ankles free while I undo the others,” I said.  Shawnee smiled gratefully.

“Nice outfit,” she smirked.  “Nice tits, too.”

“Shut up or we’ll leave you there,” I tossed over my shoulder.  She made a contrite face.

Mary and Trish were plainly in extreme stress, bent double with their legs bound back and apart, their bodies roped together and their arms stretched almost vertically.  I undid the ropes holding their arms up as a first priority, and I was undoing Mary’s wrists when everything happened at once. 

Mary was making mmphing noises through the ball and seemed to become very agitated as I worked on her wrists.  What I didn’t realise was that she could see between her legs and mine that Portia was approaching from the house, behind me. Shawnee was also facing the wrong way, and belatedly realised Portia was there in time to yell a warning, but only after I was suddenly jumped on by this wildcat that was all nails, leather and heels. 

Perhaps jumped on is the wrong word, for Portia grabbed me by a wrist and I was abruptly on the ground, having fallen backwards over an extended booted leg.  Then she was at me, taking a flying kick that I managed to avoid by sheer instinct.  High heels evidently did not hamper her movement as one of them struck the dirt just where my body had been a second before I rolled out of the way.  I had nearly got to my feet before she was coming again, this time with one of the bamboo poles that Shek had left in a heap.  At the edge of my vision I was conscious of Shawnee struggling in her ropes and chains, and Mary trying to undo the ropes binding her body to Trish’s.

Portia had a gleam in her eye, like one who knows an easy target when she sees it.  I could tell she had training in martial arts of some sort, both from the initial throw she had made, and from the way she held the bamboo pole.  I figured I might have a chance of over-powering her if I could get close enough to grab her, but that was no sure thing.  I am not a heavy person, and Portia was streamlined muscle and sharp nails, made more dangerous by the pole she now carried.  She was sleek in her long leather skirt and top, a fiery female in red and black, while I was trapped in a tight corset that restricted my breathing, and a skirt which hampered my movements.

She lunged at me, swinging the pole at my head, but missed as I dodged behind a post.  The bamboo cracked and splintered with the impact.  Portia was clearly serious about doing me some injury.  I wished I could bluff things with the pistol, but it was lying beside my bag a few metres away. 

Portia gave me predatory smile that showed her teeth but her eyes were calculating.

“Nice try, white boy masquerading as Chinese girl. You had me fooled until I grabbed you.  Too overweight for Chinese girl – ha!  I have some special plans for you, Steven, once I have you tied up with your friends here.”

She was working her way round to where Shek was chained to the post, obviously with the intention of freeing him.  He was already tugging on his ankle chain like a pitbull, looking red in the face and making noises behind the gag that suggested he was rather keen to redress the balance between us.  Nearby, Shawnee had managed to get one foot free, but was still chained inescapably in place by the steel collar around her next anchoring her between two adjacent posts.

I knew I had to make a move before Portia got too close to Shek, and I made a split second decision that this was to be the moment.  I dived at the red boots in the best impression of a rugby tackle that I could manage.  Something warm and wet abruptly soaked my chest, and I realised in the back of my mind that I must have had an accident with my boobs, but right then it was not high on my priorities as Portia pitched forward over the top of me, and we wrestled in a welter of flailing arms and skirts.

Portia was much stronger than I had expected, though I knew I was heavier and had hopefully neutralised her martial arts skills with the close quarters combat.  It was desperate stuff, and I could feel Portia searching to get a fatal hold on my wrist or arm such that she could control my movements from that point.  I had seen it done often at Bilboes – a twist or bend of the wrist and the victim was in agony, willing to do anything to make it stop.  Under these circumstances I was as busy trying to avoid her succeeding with this as I was doing anything positive myself.  The tight corset seemed to sap my strength and breath as we rolled in the dust, and I was aware of Shawnee yelling out to me to roll in her direction, as she stretched out an arm from her chained position. 

Portia managed to gain enough space to play dirty, and lifted a knee into my groin, but her own long skirt, as well as my own, hindered the move, inasmuch as she missed the target, she kneed me in the stomach instead.  With the corset already doing its job, this was the last straw in my struggle for breath, and it left me momentarily winded – sufficient time for Portia to force me on my back and climb on top of me.  We were just out of reach of where Shawnee was vainly trying to offer help, but we were close enough for Portia to grab the one of the discarded ropes that had bound Shawnee, and with a quick movement, loop it round my neck.

Between the weight of Portia, the tightness of the corset, and my own shortness of breath, the rope around my neck was the final straw in depriving my starved lungs of air.  Even though I tried to push her off and lift my knees to push her over my head, the strength wasn’t there, and my world slowly began to turn fuzzy.  There was a roaring in my ears as I began to pass out.

*   *   *

01.02.04

story continues in Monica's Travels 06

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